


The Truest Reflection

by namizaela



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Action/Adventure, Character Study, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Light Angst, Mild Hurt/Comfort, No Lesbians Die, Romance, also it didn't actually happen, it's like one line and not an important part of the plot, sort of?? in some places, very very implied
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:35:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23652442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/namizaela/pseuds/namizaela
Summary: While passing through Lindenvale, Geralt takes on a contract that spirals into more than he expects--including a mysterious curse, a monster with a hoard of mirrors, and most surprisingly: a reunion with Yennefer.(No spoilers for the books/games/show until the very last chapter!)
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 38
Kudos: 77





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!! I'm so excited to finally publish this because I've been working on it for a while :) This is the first thing with plot I've written...ever. Kind of exciting!
> 
> Just so you know, there is a graphic description of an eye injury after this line: "Putting the letter back where he found it, Geralt knelt next to the last item in the room: the corpse of the farmhand."  
> If you want to skip it, just don't read that paragraph and continue with the line "The monster--if Geralt could call it that--seemed to think and feel, but was also cruel in killing its victims."
> 
> I believe that's it from me. I really hope you enjoy the first chapter!

“Master witcher, are you able to undertake this job?” the man asked, hands trembling slightly. 

Geralt rubbed his thumb over the worn, yellowed paper of the contract in his hand.  _ Wanted: knight, sorcerer, or witcher to slay a beast which has killed three of Lindenvale’s finest men. Inquire with Bren for more information.  _ He turned it over, sighing heavily when he saw that there was no reward mentioned. 

“Any idea what the monster looked like?” he asked, glancing at the man, who he assumed was Bren.

“I was the only one who saw it, master witcher...I don’t remember much. It was hideous, sir. A-and large, very large.” Bren paused, glancing up at Geralt, his own eyes wide. Geralt knew Bren was scared--though of the monster or of the witcher standing in front of him, he couldn’t tell. 

“Fine,” Geralt said, “I’ll take a look. Show me where the corpse was found.” 

“Of course, sir,” Bren said. “Follow me.” 

With a nod, Bren walked off, leading Geralt to the very outskirts of the village. The dirt path turned into scraggly patches of grass, then into a lush plain. 

While walking, Geralt turned his head to Bren. “What happened after you saw the monster?” he asked.

Bren closed his eyes and swallowed, shuddering slightly. “He--or she, I don’t know--got its claws on one of my da’s farmhands. He was terrified, I wager, and he started writhing like a madman. It started dragging him back, and I--well, I just ran.”

Seeing Bren’s hands shake, Geralt placed a solid hand on his shoulder. “No shame in fleeing. Wouldn’t have known where to find the monster without you.”

Bren nodded. “I know.” Then, coming to the top of a grassy hill, Bren stopped. “It was here, master witcher. The monster came up the hill, and wrestled the farmhand back down that way.”

Geralt stood, surveying the surroundings. The hill wasn’t particularly high, and on the other side was a small, glassy lake. Despite the warm summer breeze, he could still smell the faint, coppery tang of blood, although he knew that Bren wouldn’t be able to notice anything. Looking down at his feet, he thought he could make out a splatter of the same blood. The farmhand must have been wounded in the struggle. From the looks of it, the trail was subtle, but it would be enough to lead him to the monster’s den.

He turned to Bren. “I’ll take it from here,” he said. “If I don’t come back for my reward by sunset, don’t come looking for me.”

Bren blinked a few times, then nodded, wringing his hands. “Thank you, master witcher,” he said. “And--good luck.” He turned, and started to make his way back to the village.

Geralt bent down to take a closer look at the blood on the ground, only perceptible to a witcher’s eyes. It was streaked, meaning the farmhand must have been moving while bleeding out. He followed the direction of the streak and soon found another patch of blood a few feet away. He’d found the trail.

A few minutes of searching for the next splatter of blood took him all the way downhill, only a few hundred paces away from the lake that he had spied from the top. The monster’s den must be close, because the scent of old blood was getting stronger with every step. He couldn’t help but wonder--what kind of a monster was he going to face? There were no corpses, because the victims had been dragged to wherever the monster wanted to take them, and no one dared to follow. “Hideous” and “huge”, as Bren had mentioned earlier, didn’t tell Geralt much about what he was dealing with. That description could mean anything from a water hag to a fiend--hell, even a drowner, if Bren was a particularly cowardly man. Which, in all fairness, it seemed like he was. 

Turning his head to the side, Geralt noticed a hole in the side of the hill, partially obscured by stringy vines and rubble. He bent down a little and concentrated on making his footfalls light and soundless. As he crept up, the scent of blood grew stronger and stronger. This was the lair, no doubt about it.

Geralt gently pushed the vines to the side and stepped inside. The air was cool and damp, and smelled of mushrooms in addition to the blood. A strange combination, Geralt thought, but one that was fairly common in his contracts.

In the murky dimness of the cave, Geralt noticed two things. One was that the monster was gone--whether out on another hunt, or gone for good, he couldn’t say. The other thing was the mirrors.

There were dozens of mirrors scattered on the floor. There were plain shards of glass, wood-rimmed mirrors meant for a vanity, even small ones with golden frames. Geralt stepped forward, and a loud crack echoed throughout the cave. He winced.

“Damn it,” Geralt sighed. “Well, at least the beast isn’t here.” He picked up his shoe and found two broken halves of a pocket-sized mirror squashed into the dirt, reflecting a distorted version of his face back at him. He needed a shave, he mused. 

A monster that hoarded objects wasn’t unheard of, but it meant that he was dealing with a sentient creature, one that would be harder to kill. And, if the monster truly had the capacity for thought, it may be that it was killing Lindenvale’s residents for a reason. It complicated things, more than Geralt liked.

The lair wasn’t large, most of the space being taken up by the collection of mirrors propped up against the wall and on the floor. In the corner, tucked away between two rocks, Geralt saw a scrap of paper. He walked over--the action unnerving him, because the mirrors reflected dozens of copies of his boots walking in tandem with his own--and picked the letter up, scanning it. The writing was in a thin, flowery script.

_ Dearest,  _ it began.  _ I miss you terribly. I know you are simply on a small business trip, but I cannot help but lie awake at night and wish you were at my side. Please come back soon, with a good supply of glass to make up for the days lost to us. On another note, I spotted Tiberius in town today. The poor man still seemed rather down about our...separation, but what can I do? I have you instead. Thankfully, he failed to notice me, and I slipped back to the shop in record time. I cannot wait for your return. With all my love, Sylvia. _

Geralt read it, then read it again. A monster hoarding mirrors was one thing, but keeping a letter--a love letter, in fact--was bizarre. Unless, he thought, this was on one of the victims, and the monster took it out? But what would compel a monster to keep such a sentimental item?

Putting the letter back where he found it, Geralt knelt next to the last item in the room: the corpse of the farmhand. The body was relatively fresh, a week old at most. What was strange wasn’t the pallor of the farmhand’s skin, or the chill that clung to the body. It was the eyes, or lack thereof, as Geralt noticed that they had been gouged out. Rivulets of dried-up blood, like tears, ran down from the eye sockets to the ground.

“Died of blood loss,” Geralt mused, turning the face sideways with his hands. “From the wounds sustained when being taken...but also from the eyes.”

The monster--if Geralt could call it that--seemed to think and feel, but was also cruel in killing its victims. And, try as he might, Geralt couldn’t think of a monster that only ate its victims’ eyes. Something was strange about this creature. 

Geralt tied a piece of cloth around the farmhand’s eye sockets and hoisted him up on one shoulder. At the very least, he could return the body to his family. It would give him an opportunity to ask much-needed questions, too. He walked out of the cave, treading lightly. The monster was still nowhere in sight.

* * *

After delivering the body to the farmhand’s family, taking care to warn them about the mutilations he had suffered, Geralt made his way toward the inn. He figured that a tavern, while being a somewhat distracting environment, would earn him the biggest chance of finding out more about this monster. Maybe the victims were linked in some way, and the monster had a vendetta with each of them. In any case, he at least needed to mull over what he’d found, and he might as well do it over a hot meal and some ale.

It was then, in the middle of thought, that the sensation hit him. Outside the door, Geralt stopped in his tracks. Unless he was somehow mistaken, amid the strong smells of alcohol, cheese, and sweat, was another scent--one he would recognize anywhere. It couldn’t be, he thought, but it certainly was possible. It would not be the first time they met by pure chance, fate bringing them together.

Taking a deep breath, he pushed open the door to the tavern. In front of him, her back turned, was a cloaked woman, her raven hair spilling out onto her shoulders and down her back. Smelling of lilac and gooseberries.

“Yen,” he said, and she turned around.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I hope you like this chapter :) No warnings this time!

Upon seeing him, Yennefer’s eyes widened, and she pulled him into an embrace.

“Geralt,” she breathed, “what are you doing here?”

Geralt pulled back to look at her, a rare smile breaking out across his face. “I could ask the same of you.”

Yennefer laughed, and Geralt smiled even wider. It had been far too long since he had heard that sound. Her eyes--the same deep violet that he remembered--sparkled with a teasing look. “I believe I’ve asked you first.” 

“Well--” Geralt started, before he was interrupted by someone clearing their throat impatiently.

“Pardon the intrusion, miss,” the man behind the counter said, “but are ye paying, or not?”

Yennefer glanced back at him, narrowing her eyes, and placed a small pile of coins on the counter. “Draw a bath as soon as you’re able, please. And,” she added, fixing her eyes on Geralt, “I will be sharing the room with this man.”

The man, presumably the innkeeper, looked at the two of them with a wry smile. “Of course. I’ll have the room ready once I finish making dinner for the rest of the patrons.” With that, he pocketed the money and headed off to what Geralt assumed was the kitchen.

“Now,” Yennefer said, taking Geralt by the hand and guiding them to an empty table, “I think you owe me an explanation for your unceremonious appearance.”

Geralt sat down heavily and placed his elbows on the table. “Could’ve helped you pay for the room,” he said.

“Please,” she smiled, “I know perfectly well how little coin you have. It’s no use pretending otherwise.”

“Hmph. No need to remind me.” Geralt sighed as he thought about his ever-lightening coin purse, but pushed the thought out of his mind. “As for my reason for being here...I was passing through, when a man stopped and handed me a contract. I just returned from checking out the monster’s den.”

“I see,” Yennefer said. After a pause, she looked at him. “Does that mean you’ll be heading off soon?”

Although she was concealing it well, Geralt knew Yennefer enough to notice the disappointment in her face. He quickly shook his head. “No, Yen, I couldn’t find the monster anywhere. I came back to gather some more information. But,” he took her hand, interlacing their fingers, “I wouldn’t mind spending some time with you while I’m at it.”

Yennefer squeezed his hand playfully. “You say that as if I haven’t already paid for you to lodge with me.”

“The cost of the room would be the same with or without me, Yen,” he pointed out, even though they both knew he was grateful. “You still haven’t told me what you’re doing in Lindenvale.”

“I suppose I haven’t,” she said. “The Lodge sent me--they’re investigating a lesser known sorcerer named Paltore. Apparently he’s placed a curse on someone. He was seen around here a few weeks ago, so I thought I would spend a few nights, see if I could find out more information.”

“Why not just go to Paltore directly?” Geralt asked. “Seems easier to me.”

Yennefer’s eyebrow quirked, and her expression took on a hint of amusement. “I know you are blissfully unaware of how my job works, Geralt, but I can’t just barge into Paltore’s estate and place him in dimeritium shackles. Although the Lodge doesn’t take kindly to sorcerers placing curses on the innocent, the victims have to be just that: innocent.”

“Guess that makes sense,” Geralt said. “Now that you mention it, I need to find out some information too. The monster I was hired to kill--well, I have no idea what it is.” He frowned. “It had a disturbing habit of hoarding mirrors. Only found out about it when I walked into a lair full of them.”

Yennefer grimaced. “That sounds unsettling.”

At that point, the innkeep walked over, placing two steaming bowls of stew in front of the couple. “Apologies for the delay,” he said, wiping his hands on his apron. “Oh, and miss, your shared room is ready. Enjoy!”

The stew was a thick, flavorful combination of deer, potatoes, turnips, and radishes. The meat was tender, practically falling off the bone, and the chunks of vegetables were soft, yet firm enough to keep their texture. Geralt dug into it with gusto, enjoying the hearty fare even more because of the rarity of warm meals on the Path. Yennefer, although a slower eater than him, matched him in terms of sheer enjoyment. For a while, both of them were silent, taking the opportunity to indulge in a good meal after days--in Geralt’s case, weeks--of travel. 

Geralt finished first, which didn’t surprise him in the slightest. He sighed in contentment, briefly closing his eyes and relishing the feeling of warmth and fullness in his stomach. In his line of work, that feeling didn’t come often, and he learned to cherish the moments in which it did.

“Careful, Geralt,” Yennefer said, raising a spoon to her lips, “I wouldn’t want you falling asleep on me.”

“I know,” he replied, his speech slow and even. “Can’t relax yet. I want to ask around for more information. Besides,” he said, cracking open his eyes, “wouldn’t dream of falling asleep while in such pleasant company.”

Yennefer looked surprised, then her face settled into a smile. “I feel the same way,” she said. “On both points.” When the innkeep passed by, she raised her hand to flag him down, and he stopped at their table with a questioning look.

“The meal was delightful,” she began, and Geralt noticed how her posture immediately became more serious. “But I’m afraid my partner and I have more serious matters to inquire about. I’ve heard rumors that Lindenvale has a monster problem. Could you elaborate?”

The innkeep looked momentarily uncomfortable at the mention of the word “monster”. “Aye, miss,” he said, “I don’t know how much Bren told your partner here--” he paused, glancing at Geralt, “--but three of our town’s boys have perished at the hands of this beast. Folk’re afraid to go out near the lake because of it.”

At this point, Geralt piped up. “You say the victims were just boys?”

“Lads, all of them,” the innkeep said. “Suppose the only comfort is that none had wives or babes to leave behind.”

Geralt nodded, lost in thought. So there was a link connecting the victims, tenuous as it may be. Sentient creatures choosing who to kill wasn’t a rarity, but usually these victims had personally wronged the monster somehow. From the sound of it, Lindenvale’s victims were unrelated in that aspect.

“And how long ago was the first attack?” Yennefer asked, steepling her fingers.

The innkeep rubbed his chin. “About a week ago, I wager. It hasn’t been long at all.”

“And how long ago was the first attack?” Yennefer asked, steepling her fingers.

The innkeep rubbed his chin. “About a week ago, I wager. It hasn’t been long at all.”

After a lengthy pause, Yennefer nodded. “I see. I believe that will be all.” She held out a coin, and the innkeep took it with profuse thanks, making his retreat across the tavern.

Geralt glanced at her, frowning. “I had a few more questions for him, you know.” Wordlessly, she took him by the hand, leading him out of the inn’s noisy common area, up the stairwell, and into the first room on the left. She shut the door.

“I thought we might continue our conversation here,” she said. “Where it’s quieter.”

The room was spacious--Yen had no doubt paid for the largest one available--and the bustle of the inn faded to nothing more than a muted murmur. A large tub sat in the corner, filled with water. Yennefer glanced at it, whispered a short incantation, and the water immediately started steaming.

“Planning to take a bath, or to tell me what’s going on?” Geralt asked. 

She took off the outer layers of her blouse, revealing a wispy linen undershirt. “Both,” she said. She looked at him pointedly, and he sighed and turned around, staring instead at the stained wooden wall.

Geralt heard the sounds of more clothes dropping to the floor, then of the water rippling as she stepped into the bath. A pleased sigh escaped her lips, and it was then that Geralt felt like he had permission to look.

Her head rested on the rim, leaving her shock of black hair to dangle inches from the floor. The rest of her body was submerged under the water. After a moment, her eyes drifted open and found their way to his own.

“Have to say, I’m a little jealous,” Geralt said, tilting his chin to indicate the bath.

“You’ll get your turn in time.”

“Hm. Just wake me up when the bathwater’s pruned your fingers enough.”

Yennefer smiled at the remark, then closed her eyes again. For a moment, the room was quiet, save for the noise making its way up from downstairs. Geralt took the opportunity to shed the heaviest layers of his armor, undoing the numerous belts and buckles holding everything together.

Yennefer shifted in the bath. “The Lodge...they notified me of the curse a week ago. The same time that your monster appeared.”

Geralt’s head perked up, then lowered as he lapsed back into thought. “Can’t be a coincidence. Think your sorcerer--Paltore, I mean--turned someone into a monster?”

“Perhaps,” Yennefer said. “Perhaps not. Regardless, I think it’s necessary to go back to the monster’s den. There must be some clue there. We need to find out why he put this curse on--if he did in the first place--before we can confront him.”

Geralt immediately started to object, his mind jumping to the worst case scenario: the monster coming back, hurting Yennefer before he had the chance to stop it. Because he didn’t know what it was, he couldn’t prepare for the possibility of fighting it, leaving him more vulnerable than usual--and by extension, leaving her more vulnerable as well. But Yennefer raised a hand, and whatever he was going to say died in his mouth.

“Please, Geralt. I can take care of myself. It need not matter what kind of monster we’re dealing with.”

He sighed, looking at her. “I know that. It’s just” --he paused, searching for the words-- “I usually only have to worry about myself on a contract.”

“As much as I detest monsters, I need to see what we’re dealing with,” she said. “I’m coming with you, whether you want me to or not.” The last sentence rang with a decisive finality.

There it was: Yennefer’s trademark stubbornness. A warmth bloomed in Geralt’s chest at the familiarity of it all, and he suddenly remembered how much he had missed her, missed all of it. “I do want you to come,” he said. His eyes met hers, and they softened. “Sometimes I forget you’re one of the most powerful people on the continent.”

She shifted in the water, tilting her head towards him. “It’s alright,” she said. “I’m more than just powerful.”

Now all they had to do was wait for the morning. There was nothing more to say about the matter. Time passed, maybe minutes, maybe hours, but after a while Geralt felt a hand cup the side of his face and opened his eyes, and he realized he had been dozing off. Yennefer sat on the bed next to him in a simple nightgown, freshly washed and smelling like how he had always remembered. Looking as beautiful as he had always remembered.

His hand clasped over hers. She stroked a thumb over his cheek. He breathed out a long breath, one he’d been holding inside him for too long, the tension melting out of his shoulders and forehead as he basked in her presence. A moment passed. She bent down, her hair tickling his collarbone, and pressed a long kiss against his lips.

Geralt, in his dazed state, might have said something to her in the heat of the moment--something about missing her, or wishing she was with him more, or hating how he never knew when they would see each other again. Or maybe he just thought it. Either way, she lay down next to him, holding her body next to his, and whispered in his ear. “I know,” she said, her voice sounding thick in his ears as he fell asleep, “I know, Geralt, I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would love to know any thoughts! Stay tuned until the next update (should be in a couple of days)!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a (sort of) long one! It's also one of my favorite chapters, so I hope you enjoy :)

When he woke up, Geralt’s instincts questioned how he had arrived here, in a soft bed, with a woman pressed to his side and the early morning light illuminating the room. Then he realized that the woman was Yennefer, and everything else--the contract, the monster who was not really a monster, and finally the promise to take her with him to see it--came flooding back. He lifted his arm from her shoulders and stood up, pulling on his armor as he did so. He heard a rustling from behind him, and the floorboards creaked as Yennefer got up as well.

He turned around. “That was the best I’ve slept in a long time, Yen.”

She looked over her shoulder and offered him a fond smile. “I wish I could say the same,” she said, pulling a black blouse over her shoulders, “but I happen to value a good night’s rest. It works wonders on the complexion, you know.”

“I know. You look wonderful.”

Yennefer pulled the buttons on her blouse through their loops, her fingers moving efficiently. “I’ve missed your compliments,” she admitted. She gently tucked a strand of hair behind his ear. “But we should go and meet this monster of yours.”

“You’re right. Wouldn’t want it to disappear again,” he said, strapping his swords to his back. “Let’s go.” Yennefer nodded, and soon they walked out the door, down the stairs, through the sleepy tavern area, and into the cold sunlight.

* * *

So far, Geralt couldn’t sense the monster anywhere outside of the lair. From outside, the cave was still dark, making it difficult to sense any life in its interior. He brushed aside the vines hanging down over the entrance and stepped inside, gesturing for Yennefer to follow him.

Together, they crept into the spacious lair, where the mirrors were exactly as he had left them, glittering with light and reflecting dozens of copies of both of their faces back at them. Yennefer took a sharp breath. Before she could say anything, Geralt pressed a finger to his lips. He listened for a heartbeat other than their own, and when he couldn’t find one, he nodded.

Yennefer took a step towards the mirrors. “You weren’t lying,” she said. “Disturbing is an...apt description for this collection.” She picked up a small, scuffed pocket mirror, inspecting it. “I wonder where these all came from.”

“From the looks of it, the garbage,” Geralt replied. Most of the mirrors were smeared with grime.

He stepped toward the corner, where he had discovered the letter last time, and found it still resting on the stone. “Yen,” he called, “Look at this.” He held up the letter.

She took the paper from him, quickly scanning the contents. She stilled. “A scorned lover,” she said, “interesting. But the name--Tiberius--I believe it may be the clue we need.”

Geralt’s eyebrows drew together. “The name? Do you know who the letter’s talking about?”

“As a matter of fact, I do.” She folded up the paper into a tiny square and tucked it into her blouse. “Tiberius Paltore, former member of the Brotherhood of Sorcerers. Last seen in Lindenvale, confirmed both by my sources and now by this letter.”

Geralt crossed his arms and smiled. “Didn’t think it would be that easy,” he said. “Having you around really helps.”

“Well, considering Roach is your usual partner in these investigations, I should think I’d be a significant improvement,” she said, her voice amused. She glanced around at the collection of mirrors. “We need to confront Paltore. With this evidence” --she pulled out the letter-- “he must be associated with the monster somehow.”

“Right as always, Yen,” he acknowledged. “Do you think he cursed it, then? After all--” 

He stopped. The faintest heartbeat edged into his senses, and even though he couldn’t see anything appear in the entrance to the cave, the next few beats became louder and louder.

“Geralt?” Yennefer asked, touching his elbow. “Are you alright?”

He turned to her. “Something’s coming. We need to hide.” He took her hand, pulling her into a well-concealed crevice and squeezing himself in front. That way, he would be able to see whatever was coming into the cave, and in the event of a fight--well, the blows would hit him first. He steadied his breathing and briefly considered taking a potion, but decided against it. Too much movement to reach into his pack and get one.

Yennefer placed a hand on his shoulder. “Do your best not to harm it,” she whispered. “A person could be trapped inside, if the monster is indeed cursed.”

Geralt nodded, his mouth set in a grim line. And then, framed in the sunlight streaming into the cave, he saw it--a large, hulking creature, staggering into the entrance and dripping with water. A few feet closer, and he could make out protruding yellow teeth, sunken eyes, and leathery, greying skin. Even with the mud and slime dripping off it, it was clear: this creature was a wight.

That was good, Geralt thought, wights are usually harmless if left alone. Then again, they were mostly found in graveyards and cemeteries, so he couldn’t be sure if this was a normal one. He let out a silent breath, relieved to at least know what he was dealing with. If he was forced to fight it, at least he had some necrophage oil on him.

But it turned out he wouldn’t have time to oil his sword at all--because, in an unfortunate stroke of luck, the wight twitched, slowly turned its head to the crevice, and screamed.

Immediately the cave flooded with a thick, chilling fog. There was no time to think. Geralt pulled out his sword, leaping away from the crevice to be in full view of the wight. 

“Geralt, don’t--” 

“I know.” He paced closer to the wight, a few steps at a time, his fist clenching the sword but not readying an attack. He locked eyes with it and willed it to understand.

“We’re not here to hurt you,” he said softly. “We want to help.”

He paused, holding his breath, waiting to see if it understood. Slowly, he started to sheathe his sword. A second passed, then another, but in the next moment a glint of sunlight reflected off his sword and into the wight’s eyes, and Geralt saw them fill with fear.

Another scream, ear-splitting, and without warning the wight lunged at him--impossibly fast--and tackled him against the stone floor. He grunted and dropped his sword, and from a distance he thought he heard Yennefer yell something.

The wight snarled, and Geralt realized the sound was so much worse when its mouth was mere inches from his face. Thick, foul-smelling saliva dripped onto his cheek. His hands pushed feebly against the wight’s own, but he was no match for the monster if he didn’t want to risk hurting it. With both of his hands straining against the wight, he couldn’t even make the Sign of Axii, which would have calmed it.

“I’m not going to harm you!” he hissed, struggling against the massive weight bearing down on him. But it just snarled again, its hot breath blasting in Geralt’s face, and in one swift motion swiped a claw across his chest.

“Shit!” Geralt momentarily lost his grip in surprise, reeling from the tear. He looked wildly for Yennefer. 

“Use Aard, Geralt!” she called from somewhere he couldn’t see. “I can’t--”

Once the words left her mouth, Geralt used his now free hand to quickly form the Sign of Aard, and concentrated enough to blast the wight with a strong force. It screeched, and flew across the room, landing with a wet thump.

At that moment, Yennefer leapt from behind a rock, shouting something in Elvish, and a silvery cord fizzled into place around the wight’s prone form. She stood for a moment, panting, and then straightened up.

She ran to him. “Geralt, you’re hurt,” she said, and he looked down. Blood seeped from a long gash across his armor, and he became aware of a throbbing, hot pain. He pressed a hand to his chest to try to stem the flow.

“We’ll...deal with that later,” he said. “How long will that hold?” He jerked his chin to the wight, which was writhing on the floor, straining against its magical bindings.

Yennefer shot a worried look at him, but then turned her gaze to the wight. “It will hold as long as I do,” she said. “Let me try to talk to it.”

Before Geralt could stop her, she stepped toward the wight, which squirmed even more furiously, hissing and squealing. She reached inside her blouse and took out the letter.

“This is yours,” she said, her voice commanding. “We know this belongs to you. We know you were cursed.”

At that, the wight--finally--stilled. Yennefer glanced at Geralt and nodded. So they were right, he thought. This was no monster at all. 

“We know the man who did this to you,” she continued. “Tiberius Paltore, a former sorcerer of the Brotherhood. My partner and I--” she gestured to Geralt “--we’re trying to confront him, maybe even undo the curse. Trust me when I say that we mean no harm.” She took a cautious step towards the wight, crouched down, and stared it in the eyes. “Please,” she said. “Please believe me.”

Geralt took the opportunity to kneel down beside her, slowly as not to startle it, and raise his hands to show that he wasn’t reaching for his weapon. His right palm was covered in blood.

“I know you’re hurting, scared. But until we can get this all sorted out, you can’t keep killing people,” he said. “It only puts a target on your back.”

The wight wheezed, its sunken eyes darting between the two of them and the letter. For a while, the cave was silent, save for its heavy breathing. Then it slumped against the ground.

Yennefer crept closer still. She reached a tentative hand out. The wight blinked lazily, and the next moment, the silver rope around it fell to pieces. A tense second passed where Geralt wasn’t sure what it would do, but it just lay there, breathing. A few moments later, it got up and slunk behind a rock, out of sight.

***

The pair sat on the shore of the lake, just outside of the cave, wanting to catch their breath for a moment before heading back. Although Yennefer initially reached out to heal Geralt’s chest with magic, he waved her off, saying that with regular medicine the wound would patch itself up by the next dawn.

So, instead of a healing spell, Yennefer held a medicine-soaked rag against his chest. “That could have gone much worse, you know.”

“I know,” he replied, his face twitching with pain, but still calm. “We’re still alive, though, and the wight’s given up on attacking people. That’s got to count for something.”

She heaved a sigh, and wrung out the rag into the lake. “I suppose so.” She wrapped a cloth bandage around his chest, winding the material tight enough to put pressure on the wound. “Better?”

Geralt stood up and experimentally rolled his shoulders. “Yeah,” he said, “thanks. Better than what I would’ve been able to do, anyway.”

She got up as well, brushing the silt off of her trousers, and smiled at him. “It turns out bringing me with you had some advantages after all,” she said. “Need I remind you that without my intervention, you would still be pinned under the wight?”

“Without your intervention, I wouldn’t be in this situation in the first place.”

“I’ll take that to mean you’re grateful.” She turned to walk up the hill. “We should be getting back, Geralt. Now that I have evidence, we should pay Paltore a visit.”

“Now?” he asked. “Shouldn’t you contact him first?”

Yennefer turned to face him. “Whatever for? I’m not exactly obligated to let him know of our arrival.”

Geralt nodded. “Guess you’ve got a point,” he said. “Need to get Roach, though. She’s stabled at the inn.”

“So is my horse,” she said. “Come on. If we leave in an hour, we can arrive at Paltore’s residence by noon tomorrow.”

She resumed walking up the hill, and Geralt followed. Once again, she was dragging him into her plans, but he found that he didn’t mind. It was worth it. A few steps later, an urge came over him--he decided to brush his palm against hers, pointedly looking the other way, but turning to catch her eye when she noticed the touch. Her face lifted into a smile, and he squeezed tighter.

* * *

Roach tossed her head against the evening breeze, snorting and neighing. Geralt reached down and patted the side of her neck. 

“Almost there, Roach. We’ll stop for the night soon.”

Yennefer turned to look at him from atop her own horse, a speckled gray mare. “You know, I’m starting to agree with your horse,” she said. “I don’t usually travel for such long stretches of time on horseback.”

“You could’ve mentioned you wanted to portal there,” he pointed out. “Didn’t mean to tire you out on the road.”

“I could’ve,” she replied, smiling a little. “But I thought it might be nice to get there the witcher’s way. Besides,” she continued, “I was under the impression you hated portals.”

Geralt smiled back at her. “Who knows? Maybe after this, you’ll prefer the witcher’s way too.”

“That,” she said, “depends on whether we choose to stop sooner rather than later.”

Geralt chose not to reply to that, instead looking ahead for any shelter. The road was heavily wooded, and it became increasingly clear that there would be no rocky outcropping for them to take refuge under. The path stretched on as far as he could see. 

An hour later, they sat by a crackling fire, Geralt patiently holding a skewered rabbit over the flames to roast.

“Hope you don’t mind eating from the bone,” he said.

“I suppose not,” Yennefer sighed, staring at the fire. “Although I wouldn’t mind even more if you removed the bones entirely.”

Geralt grunted. “I’m a witcher, not a surgeon. Don’t have the patience for that.” He handed her a rabbit leg, the fat hissing and popping in the heat, then took one for himself. He watched with amusement as she bit off tiny pieces, unwilling to get grease on her face. 

“This is...surprisingly good,” she said, raising her face to look at him. The fire cast an amber glow, softening and warming her features. Her hair was a shadowy mass, but her eyes--her eyes reflected a burning light, flickering with the flames, dancing with life.

“Geralt?” she asked, and he realized he’d stopped eating in favor of staring absentmindedly at her face. He shook his head. “Nothing,” he told her, smiling to himself. “It’s nothing.”

She narrowed her eyes, the corners of her mouth lifting. “I didn’t know you could be such a romantic.”

“Reading my mind again?”

She tossed her curls over her shoulder. “I didn’t need to read your mind. It was written all over your face.” 

Geralt, his face reddening and his mind at a loss for words, focused instead on finishing his meal. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Yennefer doing the same, shaking with quiet laughter.

Eventually, Geralt snuffed out the fire so they wouldn’t attract wolves. A chill settled over their camp, making his breath steam in the air and his fingers stiff. Even with his bedroll sandwiched between him and the earth, the ground pressed against him like ice.

But looking up, there were stars--many of them, so many that he got dizzy if he tried to focus on all of them. It was one of his favorite parts of being on the Path: resting after a long hunt, staring up at the night sky. Taking a moment to breathe.

He heard rustling next to him, and his head turned to face Yennefer’s. “You’re awake,” she said.

“Seems so.”

For a minute, she was silent. Then she spoke in a quiet voice. “How...how do you know the wight won’t kill anyone?”

Geralt closed his eyes and sighed. “At first, when it lunged at me, I thought I would have to kill it. But, when I got close, I could understand. It was afraid. And true monsters--the ones that kill for no reason--usually aren’t afraid. True monsters can be ravenous, or desperate, or furious, but when they see me they don’t feel fear.” He opened his eyes again. “The wight felt it.”

A long silence followed, and for a moment he thought Yennefer had fallen asleep. But then she shifted closer to him and nestled her head in the crook of his neck. “Thank you,” she murmured, “for not killing it. For trusting me.” She rested a hand on his bandaged chest.

Geralt wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her next to him, pressing his cheek against her hair. He didn’t say anything. If Yennefer wanted, though, she could go inside his mind and see what ran through it: memories of panic when he slammed against the cave floor, held down by the wight, and of pain as its claw ripped through his armor. But superseding them both was the memory of looking into her eyes moments after, seeing the concern in them. And before that, the memories of reaching for her in the darkness of their tavern room, of smelling lilac and gooseberries as she disrobed for a bath, of seeing her turn around in surprise--and happiness--as he called her name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts? Comments? Let me know, please :) Look out for the next chapter in a few days!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads up, this is the chapter that has a very vague mention of attempted sexual assault. It's not graphic at all, it's extremely implied (Yennefer refers to it as "crossing a line"). Still, if you want to skip, the line that leads into the mention is "“You want to know what I did to Paltore,” she said." The rest of the chapter (just a paragraph or so) deals with the aftermath of that confession, but again, everything is very vague and implied. So if you don't want to read about that, just stop reading when you come across that line! All you need to know is that they decide to go back to Lindenvale to see Sylvia.
> 
> Anyway, enjoy the chapter! I really hope I wrote with sensitivity about this subject (even though I only touch upon it).

As they approached what Geralt assumed was Paltore’s estate, he took a moment to soak in the sight. For being “retired”, as Yennefer had put it, Paltore seemed to live in the lap of luxury, not caring if his extravagance couldn’t last him the centuries more he had to live. The residence imposed a solid stone exterior upon them, broken by tall, stained-glass windows. The garden in front of the main entrance contained almost everything imaginable: marble statues, gurgling fountains, and a host of flowers, which gave off a scent so sweet that Geralt’s eyes watered. Sometimes his enhanced senses backfired on him, but still--the place was beautiful.

“If this is retirement, Yen, maybe you should give it a try.” He looked to his right to see Yennefer’s eyes lingering on the rosebushes lining their path.

“If I remember correctly, Paltore’s father was kind enough to give him his remaining fortune when he passed,” she said coldly. “So I’m afraid he and I are different in that respect. Very different.” 

Geralt knew when not to prod her further, especially about the subject of her childhood, so instead he pressed his mouth into a line and rode up to the wooden door. He dismounted Roach, and with two heavy thuds, banged his fist upon the door.

“Open up!” he called. Yennefer stood beside him, crossing her arms expectantly.

After a few moments, he raised his fist to bang again, but the door suddenly creaked open. An older man stood in front of him, dressed in an embroidered shirt and understated silk trousers.

“May I help you?” he asked, peering down his nose at them.

Yennefer stepped in front of Geralt. “We’ve come to see Tiberius Paltore. It’s urgent.”

“Certainly. Would you like me to pass on a message?”

Yennefer’s eyes narrowed. “Just tell him that it relates to the Lodge.”

The man nodded and shut the door. Geralt turned to Yennefer. “You sure mentioning the Lodge will make him let you in?”

She nodded. “Paltore may not be the most up to date on what’s going on in the world of sorcery, but he knows enough to respect the Lodge.” In the end, she was right. A few minutes later, the man reopened the door, and with a sweep of his hand gestured for them to enter. Geralt met Yennefer’s eyes and saw the silent confirmation that they should obey. He stepped over the threshold. 

The interior of Paltore’s estate was no less lavish than the exterior-- the walls held various landscape paintings, with the occasional portrait, depicting no one who Geralt recognized. Their footsteps padded softly on rich, velvet rugs. The hallway opened to a room with a fireplace and several couches. 

“Please, have a seat,” the man said. “Master Paltore will greet you shortly.” He bowed and exited the room, leaving Yennefer and Geralt to sink into the overstuffed cushions. As he left, Yennefer waved her hand and whispered an incantation, and suddenly the man turned in the direction of the entrance--not where he was initially turning to go--and walked. And kept walking.

“Yen, what did you…”

After a few seconds, Yennefer turned to Geralt. “Just making sure he stays far away from the conversation.” She paused a moment, choosing her words carefully. “Let me do the talking. Paltore might be more receptive to my words than yours.”

“Why? You know each other?”

She heaved a sigh, and briefly closed her eyes. “Yes,” she admitted. “From a long time ago.”

“How?” he asked, but in the next moment, a wiry, straw-blond man sauntered into the room. Upon seeing the two of them, he stopped in his tracks.

A slow grin spread across the man’s face. “Well, I never imagined this. Yenna--”

“Don’t call me that.” Her eyes pierced the man, who Geralt inferred was Paltore, and he briefly faltered. Now that Geralt got a closer look at him, he seemed physically unintimidating. Still, Paltore carried himself with an arrogance that was both obvious and probably unearned. Geralt disliked him already.

“My apologies,” Paltore continued. “Now tell me”--he sprawled out in a worn chair--“what brings you and your...companion here?” His eyes ran over Geralt, who had the uncomfortable sense he was being evaluated, like a specimen.

Yennefer reached inside her blouse and pulled out the letter. “This letter,” she said while unfolding it, “indicated you were seen in the town of Lindenvale a mere few weeks ago. Care to enlighten me what business you had there?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Geralt noticed Paltore grip the armrests of his chair. Nevertheless, he remained composed. He spoke in a surprisingly even voice. “And why should that interest you?”

“Because it interests the Lodge,” she replied. “There’s been a monster about, these past few days, and rumor has it that you’ve placed a curse on someone.” She regarded Paltore with a cool eye. “I doubt that’s a coincidence.”

“Now wait just a minute--” he started, but Yennefer held up her hand. 

“Talk.” She sat with her head held high, cutting an intimidating figure against the firelight. “Prove your innocence, or I will portal you to the Lodge. Now.”

Paltore’s eyes darted around, and she smirked. “Looking for your butler? No need.” She rested her chin in her hand. “He’s currently on a walk through your sprawling estate. A long walk. I’m afraid he won’t be back for quite a while.”

Paltore’s face flushed red, and his mouth opened and closed a few times. “You have the audacity to threaten me in my own home!” Spittle flew out of his mouth as he talked. “Why, I could--”

“What could you do, Tiberius?” she asked, her voice cold. “You have as much magical talent as the potted plants in Ban Ard. In fact, I’d say they served more of a purpose than you--your father paid a hefty sum for you to get your foot in the door, while the plants at least filtered the air you wasted chanting your spells. For free.”

Paltore reddened even more, and Geralt wondered how much more the man could take before a vein burst with rage. He had to hand it to Yen--she really knew how to take someone down a peg. 

“You harlot!” he stammered, sputtering even more. He looked frantically around the room, and his eyes landed on Geralt. He raised a shaking hand. “Does your...your mutant know how cruel you were to me decades ago? Does he know what a--”

Before Geralt could interrupt in Yennefer’s defense, Paltore cut himself off with a gasp and slammed back into the heavily stuffed armchair. Geralt glanced to his right, and Yennefer was standing, her hand clenched and eyes blazing. A second later, dimeritium handcuffs flew across the room and clicked into place, chaining Paltore to his chair.

She marched across the room and grabbed his chin, tilting his horrified face upward. “You’ve crossed the line, Tiberius. Severely. And if you won’t tell me what really happened in Lindenvale, then I’ll find out by force.”

Geralt hesitantly started to get up. “Yen, should I…” he started, then trailed off. Whatever history the two of them had, he wasn’t sure if he should get involved.

She glanced at him, her hand still gripping Paltore’s chin. “No need. I’ll explain, I promise. But at the moment…” She looked back at Paltore, her eyes boring into his. Her face steeled in concentration, and Paltore looked increasingly uncomfortable. After a few seconds, her eyes narrowed, and she let go of his chin. Mind-reading, Geralt thought. The oldest trick in the book.

“Tell me who Sylvia is,” she commanded. “Tell me why she frequents your thoughts. Tell me, or my cruelty all those years ago will pale compared to what’s in store for you.”

Geralt stilled. He thought he recalled seeing the name Sylvia somewhere, but he couldn’t pin down exactly where. In the village, maybe? In the letter that Yennefer carried?

Paltore panted for a moment, then stared at his feet. “Sylvia...she’s...she’s my lover. That’s all, I swear! I didn’t do anything to her!”

“And why, a moment ago, did you wish to get her back? Did she leave you?” After a heavy silence lasting for a few seconds, Yennefer scoffed. “I’m not surprised.”

“No, no, she didn’t leave me!” Paltore protested. “We had a fight, and she hasn’t come back, but I know she will!”

Yennefer stared at him, mild amusement on her face, but then her eyes narrowed again. “You’re thinking of another woman,” she said. “Who is she? A second lover?”

Paltore’s lips pressed into a line, and his fingers curled inward. He looked at the rug silently. Yennefer grabbed his face and he let out a squeak of surprise. Again, her eyes bored into his, and after a few seconds, she suddenly let go. She glanced at Geralt, and he noticed trepidation in her expression.

“Sylvia did leave you,” she said to Paltore, her voice quieter. “She left you for that woman. And you...you flew into a fury. You cursed Sylvia’s lover.”

Paltore squeezed his eyes closed. He sucked in a long breath. He nodded. 

Yennefer’s eyes hardened. “The curse,” she said. “What--”

“May you never be seen as beautiful, as long as you draw breath.” Paltore finally stared Yennefer in the eyes. He seemed ready to spit in her face. “That was the curse. A curse spoken in the heat of my anger, sadness and betrayal. I don’t regret it.”

A curse centering around beauty--it all made sense. Why the monster was a wight, one of the ugliest monsters in existence. Why it was obsessed with mirrors, why the only victims were single men, who were most likely to think a woman was beautiful, and why their eyes were plucked out. It was at this moment that Geralt finally recalled where he’d recognized the name Sylvia from: the signature on Yennefer’s letter, of course, but also from Lindenvale’s pitiful notice board, erected right outside the inn. On it had been the original contract, the one that had gotten him into all of this mess, but also a smaller note. He didn’t remember the contents--the contract immediately taking up his attention--but what he did remember was the flowery signature at the foot of the notice. Sylvia Redwood, it had read. He hadn’t made the connection when he first entered the wight’s cave and discovered the letter, but it was obvious now. The Sylvia in the letter and the Sylvia in the notice were the same person.

“Yen,” he said, and she looked up at him. “She’s in Lindenvale. Sylvia, I mean. We need to find her, break the curse on her lover. Paltore can wait.”

She stared at him for a moment, then nodded. “You’re right. Yes,” she said, “he can wait.” She turned away from Paltore, leaving him chained to his chair, and walked out of the mansion with Geralt. Even when he shuddered, strained against the cuffs, and hurled insults at the back of her head, she kept walking.

In the harsh afternoon sunlight, Yennefer’s hard edges that were apparent only moments before vanished. Instead, Geralt noted, she looked drained. Exhausted.

“Yen,” Geralt ventured, “mind telling me what happened in there?”

She didn’t even look at him. “I read his mind. I took what information I needed. And now, we’re going to fix his mess.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

She stopped walking. Turning her head to the rosebush bordering the path, she sighed. “You want to know what I did to Paltore,” she said. After a moment, she spoke up again. Her voice was flat, carefully concealing the emotion just underneath the surface. “When I was a fledgling sorceress, we met. He harbored an attraction to me, and I didn’t reciprocate his feelings, so I tried to break things off.” She closed her eyes, and Geralt noticed the slightest set in her jaw. “He...he only grew bolder. And one day, he crossed the line.”

Geralt moved to place a hand on her shoulder, then thought the better of it. “Did he--”

“No,” she interrupted. “I paralyzed him in the heat of the moment, while he was almost on top of me. And then I left him. I heard it took days for someone to find him, pants soiled and half-dead with thirst.”

Geralt stood, facing her back somewhat awkwardly. He tried to ignore the angry churning of his stomach, to resist the urge to march back inside and strangle Paltore with his own hands. Or maybe hold Paltore down so that Yennefer could strangle him herself. Instead, he took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Yen. I wish...I wish you would’ve told me before.”

She turned around and scowled. “Why?” she snapped. “So you could strut inside like a knight errant from Toussaint, acting as my protector?”

“That’s not--” he started, but she held a hand up.

“I needed this, Geralt,” she said. “I’ve dreamt of doing what I did back there many times. I needed to be the one to put him in his place, and I needed to do it alone.”

Geralt paused. “Still,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

Her eyes softened, and her lips pressed together. She gazed into his eyes, not reading his mind, but searching for something unnameable. Her eyebrows drew together, and she exhaled. “It’s not your fault.” She slipped a warm hand into his. “Come. We must find Sylvia.” 

They walked back to the horses, but Geralt couldn’t concentrate. He kept wondering how long, exactly, Yennefer had dreamed of Paltore, his wiry form moving toward hers, her body shuddering in the night and half-consciously plotting her revenge. The fear, the disgust, the grief--he wondered how long they had lain in the back of her mind. He wondered if she really believed she had to struggle alone.

But in the end, despite the thoughts churning around in his head, not a word passed his lips. Even when they stopped for the night, the two of them huddling around a campfire for warmth, he stayed silent. Even when she suddenly took his hand in the darkness, lacing their fingers together, and started to quietly speak, he stayed silent. No--that wasn’t entirely accurate. He listened. When Yennefer spoke, first talking about matters of unimportance, then slowly letting slip what she really wanted to say, confessing in stilted whispers what she wanted to say but never thought she could, he listened. She told him everything. And he understood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would really like to know any thoughts! To repeat myself from the beginning of the chapter, I hope my writing was respectful. I tried my best to be thoughtful as to how I could resolve the chapter, striking a balance between being realistic and providing a satisfying conclusion. Let me know how I did :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (spoilers for the end of the chapter!!)
> 
> There's a description of drowning at the end, starting with the line "And suddenly Geralt felt the breath in his lungs disappear". If you don't want to read about drowning, stop reading the chapter at this line! 
> 
> I think that's it. Only one more chapter to go...exciting stuff!

Geralt tore the note off the Lindenvale’s notice board, handing it to Yennefer. “Look,” he said, pointing to the bottom. “Signed by Sylvia Redwood. She must be somewhere in the village.”

The note was short, only a few lines: _If anyone’s seen Hela around, let me know. She hasn’t come back in days. --Sylvia Redwood_.

Yennefer hummed. “Hela...she must be Sylvia’s lover. And who’s hiding inside the wight.”

“We should let her know what happened to Hela,” Geralt said. “Besides, the curse was about being seen as beautiful. So,” he reasoned, “Sylvia seems to have the best shot out of any of us at breaking it.”

“You may be right,” Yennefer said. “She’s our best chance at helping restore Hela to her normal self.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Geralt spotted a wooden sign a ways off from the main road. _Sylvia’s Glass Menagerie_ , it read. He tapped Yennefer on the shoulder and indicated the sign. “Think this might be her,” he said, and started walking.

They didn’t even have to knock--a few feet away from the entrance of the shop, the door creaked open, and a woman stood to greet them. She had dark skin and thick plaits of black hair hanging down to her waist. Beads of sweat glistened on her forehead, and she wore thick leather gloves up to her elbows.

“Greetings,” she said. “Can I help you?” She leaned against the doorframe, waiting.

“Uh, sort of,” Geralt began. ”You’re Sylvia, right? The one who put up the notice?”

She straightened up. “I am,” she said. She looked between the two of them, taking in their travel-worn appearances. “Come inside, and we’ll talk.”

Most of the room inside was taken up by shelves crammed with glass in all shapes and forms--colorful vases, decorative bowls, and long-necked bottles that reminded Geralt of the ones in Kaer Morhen’s potion room. There was a door propped open in the back, and Geralt glimpsed a furnace stationed a few feet away from the back exit. Sylvia gestured at the both of them to take a seat in the two chairs sitting by a shelf, so they did. She draped her working gloves over the back of a chair and looked at Geralt. “Is there news?” she asked. “Do you know what’s happened to Hela?”

He fidgeted with his armor. “It’s a long story,” he said. “But I have bad news. She’s alive--” Sylvia’s shoulders sagged in relief “--but she’s...changed.”

“What do you mean?” Sylvia demanded. “Changed how?”

Yennefer cleared her throat. “A mage placed a curse on her. He transformed her into a wight. She still retains her senses, but her outward appearance is completely different.” Her voice was gentle, soothing.

A few seconds passed where Sylvia simply stood, a blank expression on her face. Then, she fumbled around for a chair and dropped heavily into it. She sunk her face into her hands. 

“Why?” she murmured, shaking her head. “Why would someone do that to her?” Geralt traded a concerned glance with Yennefer, who he suspected felt as helpless as he did at comforting the woman.

After a minute, Yennefer took the folded-up letter out of her blouse and pressed it into Sylvia’s hand. “Here,” she said. “We found this in Hela’s...residence. Maybe this will explain.” .

Sylvia quickly unfolded and scanned the contents. Her eyes widened. “Tiberius…” she whispered. Her eyebrows drew together. “No. I cannot imagine that he would cast a curse on her.”

Yennefer smiled sadly. “He’s not the man you thought,” she said. She and Geralt traded a look. “There is much we have to tell you. But first, you should know that despite your disbelief, he did curse Hela. It was out of jealousy, and perhaps prejudice as well. Prejudice against the love you two shared.”

Sylvia shot a panicked glance at the two of them, clutching the letter protectively. “Y-you know about us.” Her voice wavered.

“Yeah,” Geralt said. “Don’t worry, if that’s what you’re thinking. Yen and I--we’d like to think we’re not as judgemental as some other folks.”

“Yen?” Sylvia asked after a moment. She looked at Yennefer, and her shoulders relaxed a little. “Is that your name?”

At that, Yennefer’s mouth twisted into a wry smile. “Call me Yennefer, not Yen. My partner here is Geralt.” She paused, and sighed. “Sylvia, we know this is a lot to take in. Do you think you could recount what happened leading up to Hela’s disappearance?”

Sylvia’s eyes fixated on the letter. She stroked her thumb over the soft paper. “Hela and I...we met a few months ago. In this very town. I was in a relationship with Tiberius at the time, but soon I made excuses to visit her almost every week. She encouraged me in my hobby of glass-blowing, while Tiberius frankly only thought about himself.” She sighed and closed her eyes. “I suppose in retrospect it’s clear why I fell in love with her. But at the time, all I knew was that she made me happy in ways that Tiberius never had. That no man never had.”

Geralt leaned forward in his chair. “The letter said that Hela was on some sort of business trip. Was that before her disappearance?”

“Yes,” Sylvia said. “At that point, I’d ended my relationship with Tiberius. She went to a nearby city to buy more supplies for my workshop. She loves to help me with my work, you know, although she doesn’t know the technical details of it.” She paused for a moment and looked back at the letter. “She came back, and we reunited in happiness. But the morning after...she was gone.”

Geralt knew that feeling all too well. He glanced at Yennefer, who spoke up. “Tiberius must have seen you two together at some point, and inferred the rest himself.”

“Hela probably left because the curse had taken effect,” he added. “She probably didn’t want you to see her.”

Sylvia’s face crumpled. “This is all my fault--all of it.” She wiped a hand over her face and looked at Geralt. “Please,” she begged, “you must take me to her.”

Geralt offered her a comforting smile, or at least a smile he hoped was comforting. “We were already planning to,” he said. “Curses can usually be broken. In this case, you might be our best shot.”

“What do you mean?” 

Yennefer rose from her chair and smoothed her blouse. “The curse was that no one would think she was beautiful for as long as she drew breath. Geralt and I both concluded that since you love her, you would have a chance of breaking it.” She turned toward the door. “We should go before night falls. Time is of the essence.”

Sylvia slowly nodded, as if taking it all in. “Alright, Miss Yennefer. If you think I would be useful…” She trailed off and bit her lip. 

Geralt rose too, and offered a hand to help Sylvia up. As they walked out of the shop, he felt a hand tap his shoulder. He looked back to see Sylvia, still clutching the letter.

“What if I can’t?” she asked, her voice small. “What if I can’t break her curse?”

Geralt was aware, then, of the two swords strapped to his back, gleaming in the light. He knew she saw them too. She must have heard tales of witchers as a child, heard of them as cold-blooded monster hunters that stopped at nothing to earn their coin. He looked at her and was silent. The swords were enough of an answer.

“You...you were paid to kill her.”

“I was.”

She briefly closed her eyes, then opened them again. “I won’t let it come to that,” she said. “I won’t let anyone touch her--even if she remains a wight.”

Geralt briefly considered cautioning her. The truth was, if the curse couldn’t be broken, killing Hela would be the merciful thing to do. Both for Lindenvale, and for Hela herself. He didn’t want Sylvia’s feelings to blind her to reality. But, at the same time, he had been guilty of the same in the past.

In the end, he placed a hand on her shoulder. “I know you won’t,” he said. “It’s okay. It’s okay to still love her.”

* * *

As the three of them walked toward Hela’s lair, Yennefer turned toward Sylvia. “I want to make sure you’re prepared,” she said. “I won’t lie and say that she will be pleasant to look at. But you must remember that Hela--the real Hela--is trapped inside.” 

Sylvia clutched the letter even tighter in her fist. She nodded, but didn’t say anything. Geralt could see how she trembled. He chose not to comment on it.

A few feet away from the entrance, he held a hand out to stop Yennefer and Sylvia from passing. Sharpening his senses, he heard faint rustling inside the cave, a sign that Hela was inside. He gently pushed aside the veil of ivy hanging over the entrance and stepped inside. Immediately, the light from outside reflected across the mirrors that were still scattered around the cave, but Geralt’s sensitive eyes caught one more reflection. It was in a sunken pair of eyes hidden at the very back of the cave, staring right back at him. It was Hela.

He motioned for Sylvia and Yennefer to come behind him, and stepped further into the cave with his hands up to show that he wasn’t a threat. Slowly, the wight--Hela, he thought, not the wight--peeked from its hiding spot.

“Hela,” Geralt said. He kept his voice even and calm. “Sylvia is here to see you.”

Although clutching Geralt’s arm in fear, Sylvia stepped from behind him and into the cave. “Hela?” she called, her voice breaking. “Are you there?”

Upon seeing her, Hela cried out, a guttural moan that made Geralt cringe in pity. She shrank back, hiding herself completely. 

“Wait!” Sylvia called. “Hela, wait.” She took a step forward into the darkness, and the mirrors reflected a dozen copies of her taking that same step. “I must see you,” she pleaded. “Let me help you.”

The three of them waited a minute, then another. Geralt was about to ask Sylvia to leave when something moved. A second later, Hela crawled into the light, wheezing and trembling.

She looked so much smaller, Geralt thought. Skinnier too, since she hadn’t eaten anything for a few days. Her claws scraped across the floor, and her head was bowed. It seemed like she was trying to curl up on herself as she walked.

“Hela…” 

Geralt turned around just in time to catch Sylvia as she sagged to the ground, her legs giving out under her. “Easy,” he cautioned, but she paid no attention to him. Instead, she crept toward Hela, a few staggering movements at a time. Initially Hela shrank back, but Sylvia grabbed a wrinkled, gray claw and clutched onto it for dear life.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, bringing her face unbearably close to Hela’s. She pressed her soft cheek against Hela’s own, running her other hand up and down the top of her head. Hela was as still as a statue. Sylvia, who was comically small compared to Hela, embraced her as best as she could. She turned her head to gaze into Hela’s eyes, and Geralt noticed something wet on her cheek. “I couldn’t protect you. I’m sorry.”

At that moment, Geralt felt a hand on his elbow. Yennefer stood next to him, gazing at the two lovers. Together, they watched them rock back and forth in a strange sort of embrace. After a few minutes, Yennefer looked at him, then back at Hela, who was frozen in place--and Geralt’s heart sunk at the realization--still a wight. Sylvia didn’t seem to notice, still wrapped up in the embrace. But the evidence was clear: the curse still held.

He looked back at Yennefer, whose mouth was pressed into a hard line. She let out a long breath, her eyelids sinking shut and her eyebrows drawing together. Not knowing what else to do, Geralt wrapped his arm around her. They stayed like that for a while.

“We’ll find another way,” he said eventually. He squeezed her shoulders. She didn’t reply. Maybe she saw through his lie. In truth, there was no other way. The curse was that no one would see Hela as beautiful for as long as she drew breath, and if Sylvia couldn’t manage it, he knew no one would. He couldn’t blame Sylvia, but she was their only shot.

A series of heavy steps caught Geralt’s attention. They were coming from behind him, outside the cave, and he let go of Yennefer and turned around. If Yennefer hadn’t suddenly inhaled in surprise, he wouldn’t have believed his own eyes--because silhouetted in the evening light, leaning heavily against the cave wall with suspiciously broken-looking hands, was none other than Tiberius Paltore himself.

* * *

Paltore leaned on the cave wall, panting heavily and with sweat dripping down his brow. Geralt cursed and moved to draw his sword, but Yennefer was faster. With a flash, her hands summoned chaos, crackling and fizzing with energy.

“Stay back!” she yelled, aiming her hands towards Paltore. Geralt wasn’t sure who she was talking to--Paltore, or the rest of them. Just in case, he took a step back. He glanced back over his shoulder, and saw Sylvia looking at the entrance with wide eyes. She still clutched Hela with trembling hands, but her attention was focused on Paltore.

“Tiberius,” she breathed. “Why...why are you--”

Yennefer cut her off. Her hair whipped around in a frenzy as the spell in her hand gained more and more energy, and the crackling in the air grew louder. “Give me one reason why I shouldn’t portal you to the Lodge!”

Paltore raised his broken hands in front of his face to shield himself. “Wait,” he cried, “I don’t mean harm! I only want to speak to Sylvia!”

At this point, Sylvia clutched Hela even harder. “I don’t want to talk to you,” she said, her voice wavering. “You cursed Hela to live life as a monster. What did she ever do to you? How could you do that?”

“Sylvia, dear,” Paltore said, looking at her with a mixture of pity and contempt, “she seduced you. Took you from my side. For Melitele’s sake, your relationship is...it’s unnatural.”

Sylvia’s mouth opened and shut a few times, and Yennefer’s spell still thundered in her palms, and amid the chaos Geralt suddenly heard a low growl that grew in volume. He pulled out his sword. But even his sharpened senses weren’t enough to predict what happened next: Hela ripping herself from Sylvia’s embrace, letting loose a guttural roar, and tackled Paltore to the ground in one long leap.

Yennefer cursed, letting the spell die in her hands. “I can’t risk hitting her! Damn it all!”

In only a few seconds, Hela revealed the extent of her brute strength. While Paltore screamed, wriggling uselessly in her grip, she dragged him out of the cave. Geralt ran out to follow them. Hela, with long, loping strides, was moving toward the lake. Then, into it. 

Without thinking, Geralt unbuckled the heaviest layer of his armor and let it thump onto the sand. The situation was getting out of control fast, and his only chance of salvaging it would be to dive into the lake after them.

“Geralt!” He heard Yennefer run up behind him. “What on earth are you--”

“I have to go in after them,” he said, unbuckling the last of his extraneous equipment. Only his swords and crossbow remained, along with the lighter layers of his armor. “There’s no telling what could happen in there. He could kill her.”

“You’re useless in the water! Do you realize that?”

“So is Hela,” he said, and saw as her eyes widened in realization. “Yen, there’s no time. Take care of Sylvia.”

Without another word, he waded in the water as he sensed Sylvia’s footfalls come up behind him. Yennefer was saying something, but by that time, he was fully underwater. 

Compared to the chaos on land, the lake was tranquil. Everything looked like a dark mass, and sound was reduced to a murky echo. Geralt shivered. He wasn’t concerned about drowning--he could hold his breath for upwards of ten minutes thanks to his remarkable constitution. With swift strokes, he swam towards a large form deeper in the lake. After a few seconds he recognized this to be Hela and Paltore, now locked in a struggle.

Hela’s strength was diminished in the water, and although she seemed to have a plan of drowning Paltore, she must not have realized that sorcerers retained control of some nonverbal spells, even while underwater. Paltore made a complicated gesture with his fingers and with a blast of energy, separated himself from her grip and sending her further into the depths. Then, turning his head, he noticed Geralt.

A voice echoed inside Geralt’s head. _You’re that mutant from earlier!_ He realized that it was Paltore, speaking telepathically. _Leave me. I must exact my revenge...you’d be foolish to get in my way._

Admittedly, Geralt didn’t really have a plan after this point. He didn’t know whether wights could swim, but a quick glance towards Hela confirmed that they couldn’t. He needed to--somehow--get her to the surface. But he didn’t know how to communicate that to her, and more importantly, Paltore was curling his fingers to form another spell.

With some effort, Geralt closed the gap between himself and Paltore. He grabbed both of Paltore’s wrists in his hands, which made the other man grimace. 

_Unhand me!_ Paltore’s voice echoed in his head. But Geralt gripped harder, straining to dodge the kicks that suddenly rose through the water. They struggled like that for a minute. Bubbles foamed everywhere, making it hard to see what was happening. The initial chill he’d felt when entering the water faded as his body got used to the temperature. Geralt let his instincts, sharpened by years on the Path, take over.

As Paltore thrashed about, the expression on his face grew more desperate by the second. Geralt stared into his eyes and grit his teeth. He could see fear, anger, and disgust. He wondered how long it took a sorcerer to drown.

 _Not long_ , the voice echoed. _That’s why I must do this to you._ And suddenly Geralt felt the breath in his lungs disappear. 

Now Geralt was the one struggling--he gasped for air without realizing it, and he choked as he inhaled icy water. His head exploded with pain. He couldn’t breathe. He needed to breathe. Paltore took advantage of his thrashing to free himself and disappear, taking Geralt's precious air with him. Geralt wanted to curse.

Hela was cursed to never be seen as beautiful as long as she drew breath, he realized. If he wasn’t drawing breath, that meant that she wasn’t either. And despite the burning in his lungs, despite the encroaching blackness in his vision and the coldness which seeped into his bones, he gathered the strength to turn his head towards her. He saw her. But instead of a wight, there was a small, pale woman sinking in the water. She had brilliant red hair. She reached toward someone, then wrapped her arms around them. The person was Sylvia, somehow, returning the embrace, her skirt billowing in the water and covering Hela. Their eyes closed. They kissed. Sylvia gave Hela the sweet gift of air. 

Yennefer...did Yennefer send Sylvia? Did she realize it too--how to break the curse? Geralt could see light streaming from the surface of the water. He realized that, despite everything, he wasn't scared anymore. He felt cold, and his head pounded, but everything was strangely peaceful. He didn’t even think about breathing. He thought about Yennefer. He wished to see her with his entire being, one last time, to tell her about the strange mix of despair and hope that burned in his chest. Maybe he should have wished for air instead. In the end, she was right. He was useless in the water. Geralt couldn’t help but laugh at himself--he’d always been a fool when she was involved. But it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. The darkness took him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for leaving on a cliffhanger (idk if this counts as a cliffhanger)....I am very appreciative of any thoughts you have on the chapter :)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains spoilers for the end of the man storyline for the videogames, but only about the part where Geralt and Yennefer talk before the last big boss battle. It also mentions the beginning of Blood and Wine, but that's not really a spoiler.
> 
> I hope you enjoy the last chapter!

Yennefer waited alone on the shore. The surface of the lake was still, eerily so, given the chaos that she guessed was happening deep underneath. She kept her eyes locked on the surface, looking for any sign of movement. One minute, she thought. If one minute passed with no sign of Geralt, then she would take action.

Forty-five seconds. Thirty seconds. Yennefer took a deep breath. Fifteen. Ten. Five. Zero. She cursed.

Closing her eyes, she slowly raised a hand toward the lake. She whispered an incantation, her voice resonating and deepening as the magic took its hold. The next time her eyes opened, she wasn't on the shore. Or rather, she was, but only physically--her vision traveled to the middle of the lake. She saw four dark silhouettes floating in the water. 

Two women. Yennefer realized they must be Sylvia and Hela, meaning that her reckless idea had somehow worked, and the curse was lifted. She felt her shoulders sag in relief. The risk she took--or rather, that Sylvia took--paid off. 

The next figure was Paltore, who to her surprise, was vigorously swimming toward the women. Shouldn’t Geralt be restraining him? Why wasn’t Geralt following him? She watched as he moved closer to Sylvia and Hela, who both seemed unaware of his presence. Yennefer needed to do something to save them before it was too late.

But then she saw Geralt. He was uncannily still, stiller than he should be. Tiny bubbles escaped from his mouth. She realized that he was unconscious, drowning, reaching for the light streaming from the surface. Paltore was free because Geralt wasn’t able to hold him back, and she knew somehow that was Paltore’s doing, that he stole the breath from Geralt in a last, desperate attempt to further his own life. She hadn’t thought he was capable of such a spell. Then again, she hadn’t thought he was capable of other things as well.

Yennefer would not allow it. Even though casting another spell would drain her beyond what was reasonable, she had to get Geralt to land. She needed to get everyone on land--even Paltore, so she could deliver him to the Lodge alive. She would have to make a portal large enough to fit four people.

At the edge of her vision, Geralt’s hand still reached for the surface. He reached for her. And, as she took a gasping breath, summoning every inch of power within her, Yennefer reached back. She closed her eyes. 

Whenever she opened portals, she made herself focus on the one thing she wanted to happen, to help stabilize the exit point. It was something she'd learned to do early on, after many failed attempts at teleportation. This time it was easy. Geralt, she thought, her hands twitching with energy, come back to me. Just like you used to do. Just like you always do. She reached for him, and with a thundering of energy, she wrenched open a hole in reality.

In the split second that portal was open, Yennefer felt magic roar in her ears, shake her to her core and burst like stars behind her eyes. Hot blood trickled from her nose and dripped down her chin. She was scared--scared that she would pass out and let them die. But she was also grateful. If she were a lesser sorceress, a sorceress lacking the power she possessed, she wouldn’t be able to open a portal large enough for four people. If she were a lesser sorceress, she would be forced to rescue only one. The first thing she had learned in Aretuza was that magic always came with a cost. It was true. She was grateful for her power--because, if it came to that, if she had to kill three people to spare one, Yennefer knew instantly who she would choose.

* * *

The first thing Geralt registered was a dull throbbing in his ribs. He lay still for a moment, took a shaky breath in, then promptly leaned over and coughed up water onto the sand. He groaned, and eventually cracked his eyes open.

He saw Yennefer, who was leaning over him with a hand on his back. “Easy now,” she soothed. “Just breathe.”

So he did, breathing a few times and coughing heavily. He heaved himself into a sitting position. “What..” he started, coughing a little more, “what happened?”

“I portaled everyone out.” Upon closer inspection, Yennefer looked pale, the light in her eyes now dull. Geralt noticed a faint trail of dried blood under her nose.

Geralt touched a hand to her forearm. “Yen, are you alright?”

She hesitated a moment. “I’m fine,” she said. “The spell was...taxing, to say the least.”

Geralt grimaced. It was his fault. “I should have done more.”

Yen moved her arm so her hand held his, squeezing a little. “I hardly expected that to go well,” she admitted. “But it’s over now. We’re alright. And” --she looked over her shoulder-- “they are as well.”

Geralt followed her gaze and saw Sylvia and Hela sitting next to each other. The two women seemed to be in their own little world. Now that he was out of the water, he could see Hela’s appearance more clearly. She was petite, her figure reminding him of Ciri’s. She had a mass of bright auburn hair, soaked with lake water and dripping onto the sand. She looked nothing like the wight, although he guessed that was to be expected. She clasped Sylvia’s face with such tenderness that Geralt wanted to turn away, but he didn’t. Sylvia held her back and pressed their foreheads together. They were saying something to each other, but it was so soft that even Geralt couldn’t make out the words.

He looked back at Yennefer to see her smiling softly. She looked beautiful, as always, and she made his heart beat a little faster, as always. Her eyes met his.

“A happy ending,” she murmured. “We don’t see those often.”

“Especially with one of my contracts.” He pulled her close, feeling her warm breath, then kissed her. It was soft, and sweet, and she smiled against his lips.

A realization hit him and he pulled away. “What about Paltore?”

Unexpectedly, she laughed. “I teleported him, sopping wet, to the Lodge. I’m sure Philippa will thank me later.”

Geralt smiled back. “Good riddance,” he said. “Tell her to throw in a little extra punishment. Say it’s from me.”

They fell silent after that. Geralt was content to hold Yennefer until the sun set, but that was soon interrupted. Sylvia and Hela, hand in hand, stood in front of them. 

“Yennefer and Geralt,” Sylvia said, “we can’t thank you enough. You’ve worked a miracle.”

“You saved me,” Hela said. Her voice was soft. “Living as a monster...it was terrible. Until I met you, I thought I would be forced to stay that way.”

“You were never a monster, Hela,” Geralt said. “You were a victim. Just glad we could help.”

“What do you plan to do now?” Yennefer asked. 

Sylvia and Hela looked at each other, their hands squeezing together for a moment, then back at Geralt and Yennefer. “We’ve decided to move far away,” Hela said. “We want to go somewhere where Sylvia’s glass-blowing business can flourish. And where we could put the past behind us.”

Sylvia smiled. “We were thinking of Toussaint, actually. Rumor has it that it’s quite beautiful.”

Geralt nodded. “It is. I’ve been there.”

“Then it’s settled!” Sylvia said. “We should pack. I don’t mean to be rude, but I don’t want to see Lindenvale ever again.”

Yennefer laughed at that. “Frankly, I feel the same way. Come,” she said, turning to the path ahead of them, “we’ll walk you home.”

* * *

Later that night, after Sylvia and Hela safely reached their home, Geralt and Yennefer opened the door to their shared room in the tavern. Geralt immediately took off his swords and armor, rolling his shoulders and stretching. Yennefer simply sat on the bed.

For a while, they didn’t say anything. This was the first truly peaceful moment they’d had in a few days, and Geralt relished it. He sat next to Yennefer on the bed. Soon, that turned into both of them lying down, Geralt holding her in his arms.

He could feel himself falling asleep, but he blinked to stay awake. He smelled lilac and gooseberries on her hair. The scent made something warm bloom in his chest. “Feel like spending another day with me?” he asked, holding her tighter. “We don’t have to do anything.”

She sighed and pressed her cheek against his shoulder. “The Lodge needs me,” she said. “I promised Margarita I would--”

“It’s alright. You don’t need to explain.”

They lay together, Geralt rubbing slow circles into her shoulder with his thumb. 

Suddenly Yennefer spoke to him. “I’m working towards it, Geralt,” she said. He raised his eyebrows in confusion, and she continued. “Our promise, before fighting the Wild Hunt--do you remember?”

Geralt thought back. It was in a Nilfgaardian tent, just the two of them. She’d asked him to come away with her, retire somewhere where they could do what they pleased, whenever they pleased. She'd stood with her back to him, framed by the cold sunlight, and he'd agreed. After all, how could he say no? “Thought you’d forgotten,” he said. “You were so busy with politics right after. Still are, in fact."

“I’ve simply been wrapping up loose ends. I haven’t forgotten in the slightest.”

He looked into her eyes. “I haven’t either.” He pulled her closer. “You should know that.”

Yennefer smiled. “When this is all over,” she said, “where do you think we should go?”

“Spalla?” he suggested. “Dol Blathanna, maybe.”

“Or we could follow in Sylvia and Hela’s footsteps,” she said. “Toussaint…it’s a wonderful place.”

“You know, I actually got a contract there. From Duchess Anna Henrietta herself.”

“All the more reason to settle down. I suspect that if nothing else, the wine there will convince you.”

Geralt recalled the few moments in his life when he’d tasted Toussaint wine. It had been exquisite. He sighed at the memory.

Yennefer shifted in his arms. “Geralt…I’ve been happier these past few days than I have in months.” She held him tighter. “I don’t want to rely on chance to bring us together. I want to be with you and not have it be a coincidence.”

He knew that--of course he knew that. But his heart still sank. He paused. “Will you at least spend the night?”

Yennefer lifted her head to look at his face up close. “I won’t leave you,” she promised. "Not until the morning comes.”

What followed after that, Geralt both struggled to pinpoint and recalled in excruciating detail. He felt Yennefer’s arms wrap around his waist, felt her tracing every scar on his body with gentle fingers. He felt her hair tickle his neck. He sensed his heart beating faster. And, most of all, he found himself missing her already, before she’d even left his side. It was painful, like a wound that had been opened one too many times. But he clung onto it. Despite the pain, he embraced it, because it was so intense that it overwhelmed something else entirely--something that he felt so deeply it scared him, something that he found himself thinking over and over, something that he hoped Yennefer knew even without him saying it. 

But it was important, and it was true, so he looked into her eyes and said it anyway: I love you.

* * *

Geralt woke up alone. The effects of the day before--both his near-death experience and what resulted after--weighed heavily on his body. Yennefer must have portaled away in the early hours of the morning, because the scent of lilac and gooseberries was already vanishing into nothingness. The spot on the bed beside him was cold.

He spent a few minutes putting on his armor and equipment, turning his swords over in the light to check for nicks and scratches. A quick scan of the room told him that it was bare and ready for him to leave. After all, he needed to collect the money for his contract. But he found that he couldn’t, at least not for the moment. The scent was the only thing remaining. It was still there.

He sat heavily on the bed. It wouldn’t take long for it to disappear, a few minutes at most. Then he could return to the Path. Make his way, slowly, to Toussaint. He absentmindedly wondered what Yennefer was doing at the moment, but quickly shook his head. It was useless to think about those things. He trusted that she was already on her way to her next political meeting, trying to prepare for an eventual exit from politics altogether. Preparing to meet him again.

Only she could do this to him. Only she could make him feel this way. In another life--if things were different--he would be on the Path before sunrise. But, as the red-orange hues of the morning bloomed outside the window, he stayed. He stayed, smelling the intoxicating sweetness of lilac and gooseberries, feeling like both the luckiest and loneliest man alive. Waiting for the scent to fade.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I probably revised this chapter around 20 times, and I'm still not 100% happy with it...but I hope you liked it!! 
> 
> Seriously, writing and publishing this fic has been an incredible experience for me, and while I'm sad that it's over, I have a lot more confidence in my writing now. Thank you to everyone who's commented/interacted with my fic, you all have been so nice! And even if you've been a silent reader, thanks anyway for reading, it means a lot!
> 
> I may write more in the future, but for now, thank you for reading!! :)

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading :) 
> 
> I love comments, so if you liked it please let me know! Even if the comment is short/years after this fic finishes/incomprehensible, please comment anyway if you want. I treasure all feedback!


End file.
